Peas in a Pod
by Saahira
Summary: The usual Rum Island event and its aftermath, but this one is completely unlike the others I've read here. Please R
1. Peas in a Pod: Part the First

Peas in a Pod Part the First  
  
by Saahira  
  
"How ~much~ rum?" Jack Sparrow asked, his voice low and soft. I noticed the small, hopeful smile he offered me. The utter harmlessness of his expression.  
  
As harmless as a snake about to strike! Did the man think himself clever, I wondered? Did he believe me so naïve as to be fooled by a pirate's lies? It was true I was innocent in the ways of men and women, but that's not to say I did not understand it all in theory. The mechanics of the act, if you will, and the blatantly disreputable behavior of men seeking such pleasures. Oh no ... I saw that peculiar gleam in the pirate's gaze and immediately knew it sprang not from a desire to hear my song, but from a much more fleshly desire altogether.  
  
Answering the actual, though carefully unspoken question, I said with cold formality, "There is not enough rum in the entire Caribbean, Mr. Sparrow."  
  
"~Captain~ Sparrow, luv. Or Jack, if you'll allow me the privilege of calling you Elizabeth?" One corner of his mouth twitched and his dark eyes twinkled as if in silent laughter.  
  
I took another sip of the noxious liquid and felt it scorch its way down my throat. My innards blistered with it. My eyes watered from the fumes, and I hoped he didn't misinterpret those tears as something more meaningful. "Vile," I muttered, and even I wasn't sure if I meant the rum or the man.  
  
He took another long hearty draught from his own bottle. Just watching it made my belly lurch, for he drank that rum with the same delight that I might find in a fine tea imported from China, served piping hot and sweetened with honey. Realizing his enjoyment, I admit I felt envious.  
  
Lowering the bottle, Sparrow swiped his mouth across the back of a dirty sleeve like some ill-mannered guttersnipe and grinned crookedly, a quick flash of gold and ivory teeth. "Sticks-n-stones, darlin. As I said, it's a long wait ahead of us. Assumin' we're rescued at all. No need makin' all this harder on ourselves by squabblin' and such, eh?"  
  
"And so," I replied archly, "~you~ propose we become the best of friends then? Bosom companions whiling away the days until we finally ~starve to death~?" Oh, the sarcasm in my tone, my words dripping venom! Surely he would find enough insult there to leave me in peace for a bit?  
  
"I'm not askin' you to marry me, Elizabeth," he answered dryly, not waiting for permission to use my Christian name, "just t'sing me your bloody little song." Maddening man, incorrigible! While speaking, he scooted closer through the sand as if only his immediate proximity would persuade me to sing; in turn, only supreme force of will on my part kept me from fleeing. Fortitude; I was proud of myself for having it. But when he moved to drape an arm across my shoulders, it was too much. I flinched and shrugged away.  
  
He looked at me so oddly then, as if somehow hurt by my action. Taking his arm slowly away, he turned his gaze back out to the sea. Suddenly pensive, was Captain Jack Sparrow, and strangely subdued. Quietly, he said, "They don't rub off, y'know." And he took a long pull on his bottle.  
  
"What doesn't rub off?" I frowned, truly mystified.  
  
He tipped his scruffy chin downward to indicate his arm. "The scars. They're on there right good. No worries they'll come off on you."  
  
My cheeks flamed in genuine embarrassment. To insult this man's worth and honor seemed entirely acceptable ... he was a pirate, after all ... but to so callously hurt his feelings regarding a deformity beyond his control? Well, whether he was outlaw or noble, I was simply too well-bred to do anything so crass. I stammered a hesitant apology. "That's not what I meant, Jack. I'm sorry ..."  
  
"Doesn't matter," he mumbled, and drank. And while he drank, I examined his profile, the face of Jack Sparrow, the legendary pirate captain, the hero of my childhood. I studied his kohl-rimmed eyes, the grizzled strip of beard lining his jaw, the braids and beads and coins tangled in his long black hair. He was smaller and more finely boned than the fearsome giant portrayed in my favorite books. His voice was not the deep rumble I had read about, nor was his gaze so terrible as to strike panic in the hearts of honest men. He was much younger than I had believed, and surprisingly handsome beneath his unshaven dirt and grime. He was nothing like I had imagined. Still, this was ~the~ Jack Sparrow, sitting there in the flesh beside me. For years I had dreamt of meeting him, of hearing his infamous accounts firsthand.  
  
The reality of him was ... startling.  
  
~No truth at all~, he had said of those beloved stories. But despite learning the less than heroic facts of his island escape, I understood the lie for what it was. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all, and I had read all of his best exploits; I knew his legend had its basis in fact. With a thrill of childhood fervor reborn, I remembered the web of angry weals and ridges mangling his arm, and those twin pistol shots marring his chest, the scars tattooed dark by gunpowder. Intrigue and adventure, all scored indelibly into mortal flesh. Thinking of those wounds, imagining the agony they must have caused this man, I could not help but shudder.  
  
Sparrow noticed ... sitting so close to me how could he not? ... but I think perhaps he believed my reaction born of revulsion rather than pity. If so, the pirate was more gentleman than I was lady, for only a single glance betrayed that he saw my reaction. Only a single word escaped his lips, spoken on a hot ocean breeze.  
  
"Shark."  
  
I looked at him, chagrin at my rudeness abruptly forgotten as my heart tapped an exultant rhythm inside my chest. "The shark of Puerto del Sol?" I exclaimed. "The one guarding the ~Joya Bonita's~ treasure? But I ~know~ that story, Jack! It was one of my favorites!"  
  
"That right?" came his disinterested reply as more rum traveled from bottle to belly. He squinted at the distant horizon. So little enthusiasm, I thought, from a man who so valued his own reputation.  
  
"My book described the shark as a veritable ~monster!~ Half the size of a whale!" I enthused.  
  
He turned to study my face. "The ~Bonita~ sank just off the shoreline, luv. Sharks that size don't care much for shoals."  
  
Disappointment was palpable. "Then ... it wasn't a big shark?"  
  
His glance at the arm was poignant in its simplicity. "Big enough," he murmured. And returned to his study of the sea.  
  
"But it ~was~ guarding a treasure?"  
  
"Tryin' to eat the ~Bonita's~ survivors actually."  
  
I looked at him blankly. "So ... you ~weren't~ fighting the shark for Spanish gold?"  
  
His sigh was much put-upon, as if he were disgusted with himself for admitting the less than heroic facts. "I was fishin' a sailor out of the wreckage, all right?" He shrugged, negligent disinterest. "Shark had different notions, is all."  
  
"And the pistol shots?" I asked. Without thinking, I reached for his shirt and shoved it aside to better view the twin scars there. The marks were hard and swollen beneath my fingers; gnarled. "Tell me about those, Jack." Surely those were reminders of some grand adventure?  
  
The smile he cast my way was slow, sly and calculating. I flushed, suddenly aware of the lean chest beneath my questing fingers. I jerked my hand away as if burned by it.  
  
"First," he said coyly, "we'll share a drink, Elizabeth. And then you'll sing me your song."  
  
"No."  
  
Sparrow pursed his lips thoughtfully. His dark eyes narrowed. "No to the drink? Or no to the song?"  
  
"No to both," I proclaimed with as much authority as I could muster. Which probably wasn't much, considering the humiliation caused by my brief impropriety. My fingers, God help me, still tingled from touching the man.  
  
He offered a much an exaggerated sigh. "Then no story," he stated firmly.  
  
"But Jack!"  
  
When he shrugged my protest so casually away, I offered an impatient huff of my own. "Very well, we'll do it your way. But only under protest."  
  
"Oh," he purred, his head tilting, his smile far too knowing, "I'm sure we'd have it no other way, Elizabeth." And I couldn't help but wonder if he meant the drink or the song or ... or something else entirely.  
  
At Sparrow's insistence, I put the bottle to my lips and pretended to drink more than I actually did, realizing as I did so that the rum really wasn't all that bad. The aftertaste of it was sweet, and it warmed me with an unexpectedly sunny glow. I let myself drink a little more, feeling terribly naughty for so enjoying such elicit pleasure.  
  
"Not so bad, eh?" Sparrow asked, sipping from his own bottle, watching my profile. Pleased.  
  
"Its awful," I lied. "Disgusting."  
  
"I can see how much you hate it," the pirate agreed, wiping a dribble from my chin with a calloused thumb. At my answering glare, he added with a small half-smile, "There's no shame in it, luv. Not in sharin' a little drink. Not here. Considerin' the circumstances and all."  
  
"There is never a time or place appropriate for such loathsome diversions as rum and ... and ..."  
  
"And what?" Jack prompted, his heavily smudged eyes fixed curiously on my face.  
  
"Nothing," I muttered, looking away.  
  
"Ahhh ..."  
  
His knowing gaze followed mine, traveling the beach, the sky, the vastness of ocean before us. Moments ticked by. I watched a beetle scuttle across glistening white sand. I listened to lapping blue waves, and to sea birds crying as they sailed the sky. I sipped at rum in my bottle. I was intensely aware of the man seated beside me. The smell of him was heady in its masculinity ... the saltiness of sea spray mixed with the crispness of wind, all commingled with Jack Sparrow's own musky scent. I couldn't escape his presence. His nearness.  
  
Such is the wickedness of rum, that it made me indulge in such wicked notions. Still, I didn't put the bottle down.  
  
Into the silence between us, Jack said solemnly, "We are stranded on this sorry spit of land with very little food and even less drinkin' water. We may very well die here, Elizabeth. All things considered, I hardly think drinkin' in a little rum will ruin your otherwise sterlin' reputation."  
  
Sometimes the truth is too heavy to bear. With Sparrow's mention of my reputation, I felt truth's full weight suddenly crush me. I studied the bottle in my hands, turned it, concentrated on the brown liquid sloshing inside it. Quietly, I replied, "I have no reputation left, Jack. I was abducted and held captive by pirates. No one in the world will ever believe I survived such an ordeal unharmed."  
  
Sparrow's brow tangled beneath the red scarf. "I see a few bruises, luv, but ..."  
  
"You know that's not what I mean, Jack." My smile was sad, rueful. My eyes grew moist despite my firmest resolve not to cry. "And now here I am, all alone with another pirate ... another ~man~ ... on an island." I sighed forlornly. "No respectable gentleman will ever wish to marry me after this."  
  
"And marriage is all you're after?"  
  
I shrugged unhappily. "Marriage. Motherhood. What else is there for a woman?" Unfortunately, Jack was right about rum being the least of my worries. I raised the bottle to my lips and drank deeply, letting the strong liquor soothe me.  
  
Sparrow's lips pursed, twisting thoughtfully as he watched me drink. His eyebrows quirked at some inner joke. "Well, you could always turn pirate," he glibly suggested.  
  
I made a scoffing noise.  
  
"No, really," Sparrow went on helpfully, raising a hand for emphasis, waving it. "With all your readin' about pirates, surely you've read about Anne Bonny and Mary Reeves?"  
  
I offered him a dubious sidelong glance.  
  
"Charmin' girls, really. Good pirates. You'd have to change your name, of course. To Joe or Harry or ..." he eyed me critically, "... Slim."  
  
"Slim?"  
  
"Well, you can't very well stay 'Elizabeth' and still pretend to be a boy, now can you?"  
  
I was intrigued despite myself. Maybe the rum helped. "AnaMaria doesn't pretend to be a boy," I pointed out.  
  
"Nah, but she's tough as old nails. You, however, would have to be a boy until you got your sea legs under you. And learned to use a sword, that too. Then you could be Elizabeth again." His grin was infectious. "I can see it now. Calico Liz, scourge of the Caribbean."  
  
I smiled as I pictured it. Myself, dressed in breeches and boots, with a man's loose shirt tucked in my belt. My hair chopped short, blown by a strong ocean wind as I rode the crow's nest, looking for ships to plunder.  
  
"Think about it, Bethie. Freedom from your father. Freedom from Norrington. Freedom from all that nonsense about marriage and children. Just you and whatever you wish to make of yourself." His smile softened, became conspiratorial. He leaned in closer. "When I get the ~Pearl~ back, you can join my crew. I'll make an honest pirate out of you, eh?"  
  
"It sounds wonderful," I smiled. A genuine smile, for Jack Sparrow made it all sound so plausible. And freedom, so tempting.  
  
That time, when he draped his arm around me, I let him.  
  
"And now," Jack grinned, raising his bottle in salute, "the song."  
  
"Very well." I cleared my throat ... not an easy task, for the strong drink made my throat thick. Nevertheless, I sang the first stanza as clearly and cleanly as I could. I envisioned myself, living that unfettered life.  
  
~We pillage and plunder, we rifle and loot, Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot, Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!~  
  
"Well, go on," Sparrow encouraged when I fell silent, and he pressed so close our bodies touched at hips and thighs, and he pulled me tight against him in what almost seemed a hug. The warmth of his body was even more delicious than the warm glow of rum. Which should have alarmed me. And surely would have, had my future not seemed so hopeless just then, and had the rum not been slipping so insidiously through my veins. "Sing the rest for me," he went on. He waved his bottle my way, urging me to it.  
  
"No," I replied, lifting my chin with haughty dignity and setting my face into noble lines. I stared down my nose at the pirate captain while he in turn considered me through hooded eyes. "Not until you tell me about those." I waved an imperious hand toward his chest.  
  
"Tit for tat then?" he suggested cagily.  
  
"Precisely," I affirmed.  
  
I'm not sure how long our game continued as we parried favors back and forth, bargaining for such nonsensical prizes; to this very day, I don't know, though I'm sure it was still well before noon when we started and nearing dusk when we finished. A drink for a story. A song for a tale. It was silly really, but enough rum can make even silly things seem reasonable. Too reasonable. ~So~ reasonable in fact, that when I'd at last finished all my songs and poems, and had no more anecdotes with which to negotiate, Sparrow's next suggestion seemed entirely reasonable as well.  
  
"Then a kiss," Jack said. At some point during our game, I had snuggled quite companionably against the man, content to be there. Pressed beneath his sheltering arm, hugged and feeling myself protected, I heard him say, "I'll tell you about the mutiny for a kiss."  
  
The worst thing of all is that my mind was so muddled by drink that I can no longer recall even half the adventures he told me that day. But I do remember our first kiss. To my shame, I remember agreeing to it.  
  
Its all so vivid still. I remember how Jack used one work-roughened finger to tilt my chin upward to meet him. The force of his gaze held me transfixed as he leaned in close, mustache tickling, brushing his lips ever so lightly across mine. It was a tentative gesture, more caress than kiss, as if he were ready to retreat at my first protest. I smelled the spice of rum on his breath. Tasted it as well, when his lips touched mine more surely.  
  
Jack drew back only far enough to frown into my face. His eyes searched mine. I saw swirls of gold in the black of his gaze, embers stolen from the westering sun. I stared back, unable to look away. My breathing was ragged. I tingled all over, and was surprised by the intensity of heat building low in my belly.  
  
"Have you never been kissed before, Elizabeth?" he asked me. His voice was soft, a husky whisper.  
  
"Of course I have," I answered brazenly. I swallowed hard, hoping he didn't hear the lie.  
  
"I'm not talkin' about the kisses a parent gives a child." I felt the prickle of his mustache, the brush of his mouth on mine. I was vaguely aware that his lips were chapped by sun and sea spray; they were delicious. Against my mouth, he murmured, "I'm talkin' about the kisses between lovers."  
  
~Lovers?~  
  
His fingers tangled in my hair, drawing me nearer. Then his tongue was there, gently probing. I recalled my nurses speaking of such things; I hadn't believed people could really be so crude.  
  
Crude, yes. Oh yes. I gladly parted my lips for him. Hesitantly at first, then with growing ardor. I tasted Jack Sparrow, scoundrel and rogue, the man ... the hero ... I had dreamt about in my childhood. I tasted him as fully as he tasted me. I reveled in the sheer wrongness of it.  
  
Again he pulled back to study my face, and as he did I leaned toward him, unwilling to relinquish our contact. My body was aflame. I became aware that I clung to him, that I couldn't ... wouldn't ... let him go. But then Jack stood and I toppled sideways in the sand.  
  
He took a step back. He stared at me so strangely.  
  
"Water," he stated decisively, as if that were the answer to all the world's mysteries. And he proceeded to walk out into the waves.  
  
Perplexed, I pushed unevenly to my feet, following at a distance behind him, wobbling only a little. I watched as he waded out into the ocean, as sea water swallowed his ankles, his knees, his hips, his waist. "Where are you going?" I called. Where ~could~ he go?  
  
"Takin' a swim," he called back, and disappeared beneath the waves.  
  
I followed more slowly, stopping when water lapped at my breasts and tugged at my hair. The fresh scent of salt water filled my head, clearing away some of the rum-born clouds. Minnows approached only to rush away. I waited for Jack to surface; felt a twinge of panic when he didn't.  
  
"Jack?" I whispered. Fear blossomed, scattering horrid images in its wake. Without Jack Sparrow, there would no month on this island ... I wouldn't last a week without him! But no, I quickly assured myself, Jack swam like a fish. He was strong and lithe in the water; I had had occasion to learn what a powerful a swimmer he was. "Jack?" I said a little more loudly, a little more desperately.  
  
I heard the splash behind me and turned. And there he stood, head and shoulders above the gently lapping waves, well beyond my arm's reach. The knots and braids of his black hair streamed water. Droplets caught in the dark of his beard and eyelashes glistened like diamonds in the late afternoon sunshine.  
  
"Water's always good for what ails you. Puts things in perspective, as it were. I suggest you take a dunk, Miss Swann."  
  
"Elizabeth," I replied hollowly.  
  
"Miss Swann," Jack corrected with a pointed smile. He scraped the water from his face, his lashes.  
  
Oddly enough, it was anger I felt. I shoved through the water toward him, buoyed by the righteous indignation born of too much rum. "What's wrong with you, Jack?"  
  
"Me?" He looked at me askance, as though I had just grown a third eye.  
  
"That's right! First you kiss me, then you treat me like a pariah."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well?" Had I been on dry land, I might have stomped my foot. Had I been sober, I would surely have avoided the argument altogether. As it was, I slapped the ocean's surface with my palm, splashing water at him for emphasis. "Answer me, Jack!"  
  
Sparrow, in return, became the very embodiment of irritated masculine pride. Tilting his head, glowering into my face, he said tightly, "For your information, ~Miss Swann~, I am takin' measures to avoid actions which, once done, cannot be ~un~done. For your sake, not mine, I might add."  
  
Understanding, I nevertheless scowled up at him, angered that a criminal considered himself my moral superior. "A pirate is going to tell a governor's daughter what is right and proper? That's almost laughable, Jack! Shouldn't ~I~ be the one deciding that for myself?"  
  
"~Not~when you have been drinking to excess, milady," he replied sardonically. Amusement warred briefly with vexation in his features.  
  
I replied with the first scathing remark that came to mind, not caring how ineffectual it was as an argument. "But ~you're~ the one that asked for a kiss!"  
  
"That's right. But," Jack said, his low voice mocking, "highborn lady that you are, I had no idea you would so readily agree to it."  
  
"Oh!" I exclaimed hotly, affronted by his implication.  
  
"Oh," he agreed flatly.  
  
"You're a bloody ~pirate~," I snapped accusingly, "a man without principles or honor. Its obvious you know nothing about propriety." I added on a superior note, "And besides which, ~you~ have been drinking too. You're judgment is no more trustworthy than mine. Less, I should think."  
  
"Oh, aye," he readily granted, "which is precisely what precipitated my rather hasty plunge into the ocean. You however, Elizabeth, are well on your way to bein' good and rightly drunk."  
  
"I am not," I protested coolly, drawing dignity around myself like a cloak.  
  
"Nevertheless," Sparrow stated, as if that explained everything. Turning, he began wading toward deeper water again. "Jack," I called after him. I felt sudden tears welling. Despair was abrupt and crushing. Maybe I ~was~ a little drunk.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you think ..." I paused, strangling on a sob. Managed a ragged, "Have they killed Will yet?"  
  
He turned back to face me, his brows tangled as though contemplating something distasteful. Finally, strangely subdued, he said, "Probably not yet. They won't reach the Isla del Muerta for another three days or so. It gives Will time to come up with a plan."  
  
"But what can he do?" My voice was openly pleading; I prayed Jack's answer would soothe my fear and bring me comfort. Knew, as well, that it would not.  
  
He considered his reply carefully. "Truth?" he asked at last.  
  
I nodded blindly, unable to speak.  
  
Jack waded back. He stood chest deep in water before me. His rough hands came to rest on my shoulders. He looked for all the world as if he really cared. "The truth," he said quietly, "is that William has very little chance of survival. Barbossa will have Gibbs and the others locked away in the brig. There's little the boy can do on his own against so many."  
  
Had I really been so foolish as to ask for honesty? Honesty hurt too much, I realized; it wounded me to the very core of my being. I could not formulate a coherent response. I felt my life ... the whole pitiful month of it remaining to me ... shatter like glass around me. There was nothing left but broken shards.  
  
I looked back at the desolate island we shared; I looked up at Jack Sparrow through a shimmer of tears. "How did you do this last time, Jack? How did you survive even three days here without going mad?" Miserable, so utterly and completely miserable. This day was the worst of my life.  
  
Sparrow grinned crookedly and shrugged. "I got drunk."  
  
"I'm drunk," I told him piteously, "but its not helping."  
  
"I know, luv."  
  
I moved into his embrace without another thought to rights, wrongs or decorum, needing the sensation of strong arms holding me more than I had ever needed anything before in my life. I held tight to the pirate, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Felt his arms encircle me. I waited for the tears to come.  
  
Instead, I became acutely aware of the transparency of my wet shift, that only its thin veil separated Sparrow's hands from my skin, my body from his. Somehow, the indecency of it didn't seem to matter so much just then. I looked up at him. "Jack ..."  
  
"I know." His grin was rueful. "Take my bloody hands off before you chop 'em off, right?" The sun was setting by then, painting the western sky in brilliant shades of plum-purple and black and rosy peach, the colors all swirled together with the intimacy of old lovers. The ocean reflected the sky's lurid palette, darkening the shades, shifting and merging the colors, glinting midnight blues and greens with silver and gold like treasure scattered by the dying sun. The breeze carried sunset's chill, making the warmth of Jack's body against mine all the sweeter.  
  
His head was haloed in sunset pastels, his coins and trinkets reflecting pale light. His black hair hung lank and wet down his back, across his shoulders. His shirt was soaked; it clung to his body, revealing the leanly muscled form beneath. I had never seen a man not buried inside layers of clothing. The sight of Jack Sparrow's near-naked flesh made my breath catch in my throat. I stared like a wanton thing while my heart tripped rapidly inside my chest.  
  
Despite the realization of our nearness, or maybe because of it, I murmured, "That's not what I meant, Jack." Slowly I lifted my arms, circled them round his neck. And then, God save me, I kissed him.  
  
Jack held himself taut at first, as if he considered pulling away. But soon enough I felt his lips softening, opening. His arms circled my waist, dragged me roughly against him. Belatedly, it occurred to me that perhaps Jack was as scared of dying here as I was; that I was not the only one in need of comfort.  
  
Against my mouth, he murmured, "Do you have any idea at all what you're doing, Elizabeth?"  
  
"I'm kissing you," I whispered past a sob.  
  
"You're kissing ~me~," he repeated. "But I'm a pirate, as you are always so quick to point out. And we are both somewhat drunk."  
  
"I don't care," I sighed.  
  
His eyes searched my face, and there was a sudden hardness in their black depths that surprised me. His words came low, almost terse. "Remember that then, Miss Swann, should we be rescued off this bloody rock. I would not wish accusations of rape added to my list of crimes."  
  
"What?" I asked. Or at least, I meant to ask it before I was made mute by his long, deep kiss. When he pressed the hard thickness of himself against my thigh, I suddenly understood.  
  
Understood that Jack Sparrow was not an adoring young blacksmith who could be teased and coyly flirted with, without my suffering any repercussions for the game. He was not a commodore, a gentleman respected and always proper, who would accept a flirtatious kiss and expect nothing more. Captain Jack Sparrow was indeed a pirate; a dangerous, depraved, lawless man without morals or decency, a criminal against the Crown. In my foolishness, I had freed that part of him no doubt kept leashed for Will's sake.  
  
Propriety for Will, but not for me; it was amazing the pirate had shown even that much restraint. I felt the rapid thrumming of his heart beneath my hand, I felt his uneven breath, I felt the heat rising from his body to mingle with the heat of my own. Was there any hope he would stop if I begged him?  
  
"No, Jack," I said against his lips. "I didn't mean ... Don't do this. Please ..."  
  
"Elizabeth," was his only response, spoken on a sigh.  
  
Wise men say an eternity can pass in the span of a single heartbeat. In that instant, as I lost myself in the warmth of a pirate's embrace, in his need, as I felt my resolve melting, I saw the full extent of life remaining to me ... a month, perhaps a little more. I saw my lingering death here on this lost and lonely island. I saw the broken scramble of my bones jumbled inextricably among Jack Sparrow's.  
  
There is no excuse for what happened after that. No excuse, no justification; no defense even in darkest despair. For no reason other than primal lust and the belly full of rum prompting it, I behaved as might the lowliest of strumpets. I, Elizabeth Swann, daughter of the governor of Jamaica, became a wanton, with no more dignity than the street women I had so meanly ridiculed in the past. For Jack Sparrow, scoundrel and rogue, the hero ... the ~man~ ... I had dreamt about in my childhood ... I lost whatever honor I claimed. I gladly opened myself to him. I reveled in the sheer wrongness of what we did together. Rum, it seems, is as vile a drink as they say it is, and it can make people do vile and disgusting things.  
  
Sorrow and desperation did the rest.  
  
As for Jack Sparrow, I knew he was not yet drunk despite the rum we had shared. His eyes were clear and alert and he knew beyond doubt that what we did was wrong. That what ~he~ did was wrong, for he knew me an innocent. He knew I was a virtuous girl in love with the man he named as friend. It was disgraceful, that he showed so little restraint. Despicable that, sober as he was, he did not stop me when I reached for him, when I began fumbling with his belt with fevered hands. Appalling that he let me touch him as I had never touched another man. And that he touched me back.  
  
I would not have done it had I been sober. At least I have that much of my pride left.  
  


* * *

  
It was full dark by the time I woke. The moon hung over the eastern horizon, a pale ghost seen between swaying palm fronds. I lay with my cheek pillowed on Jack's shoulder, one arm draped across his chest, his arm holding me close. I listened to the gentle sound of his snoring and tried to pretend that none of what happened was true. Belying that dismal wish was the musty old blanket comprising our bed, a faded rag discarded long ago by the rum runners, its aged fabric rough and scratchy against my skin The warmth of Jack's sleeping form was certainly real enough. My head ached dully, as did my thighs and the space between them. We were both unclad, were Jack Sparrow and I, with our clothes tossed in haphazard piles in the sand.  
  
"Jack?" I whispered. As sad as it is to admit, he was the only person I could turn to for solace. The very man who had betrayed me and brought me to ruin was my only hope for comfort.  
  
How pathetic.  
  
I sat up slowly in deference to an aching body, deciding not to wake my companion. I turned my eyes away from him, unable to look, knowing my traitorous gaze would not hold to just his face. I gathered up my shift and waded into the ocean waves to cleanse myself of the stickiness of sand mixed with blood and ... and other things. I thought of Will captured, tortured, perhaps already dead while I ... while I played harlot to a pirate.  
  
Shame was palpable.  
  
I lingered in my lonely bath and lonelier thoughts. I hid my heartache in darkness. I dawdled so long that by the time I returned, Sparrow had awakened and dressed himself, and he had built up a pile of driftwood and kindling. The flame was newborn, still tentative. Soon, I knew, it would be a roaring bonfire.  
  
I dropped down beside Jack, folding my legs underneath myself in unconscious imitation of him. I studied the sand before me as shadow and firelight jigged mad patterns across it. I pushed one finger through the grains, drawing senseless designs, glad that my loose hair curtained my profile from his view. It was better than facing him.  
  
"Was it so awful then?" Jack asked me quietly. I was aware of his intent gaze; I felt his scrutiny.  
  
"No," I murmured. My eyes were moist, my sigh grief-stricken. "It was wonderful, Jack. That's the whole problem."  
  
"Problem?"  
  
Why should he understand? How could any man, let alone a pirate?  
  
I blinked back the tears, unwilling to let them fall. I would not humiliate myself in front of this man. Not again, anyway.  
  
I whispered, "No one will ever believe now that I wasn't ravished by Captain Barbossa and his crew. That I wasn't degraded dozens of times by dozens of different men."  
  
"You weren't forced to it, luv," Jack pointed out practically. He sipped at his rum, still watching me. Flames reflected off the smooth curve of the glass, off the fathomless black of his eyes. "As I recall, you were quite the willin' participant."  
  
"I know." I let the sand trickle between my fingers. One stubborn tear escaped to runnel down my cheek. "That makes it even worse."  
  
Silence.  
  
Jack's finger touched my cheek, catching that single tear. He brought it back for closer inspection, frowning as though he had never seen such a thing before. His tone, when he spoke, was perplexed. "No one need know a thing about it, Elizabeth."  
  
"~I~ will know. As will you."  
  
"Yes, but ..." I could hear it in his voice, the confusion of a man confronted by a woman's heartache. His helplessness as he struggled to make sense of it. Sighing, he admitted, "I never could figure out all your silly rules and standards. Bloody waste of time, frettin' over morals and virtues. Worryin' what your neighbors might think."  
  
"In polite society, such things matter very much," I replied softly.  
  
"And that's the very reason I became a pirate." He shook his head, his dark eyes narrowing as he leaned toward me. "We enjoyed ourselves, Bethie. We had a good time. We took our minds off our sorry situation for a bit. I can't see the harm in that."  
  
"I betrayed Will." There, I had said it. The most horrid truth of all. Blurted out, the words carried on a sob. The dismal reality, standing like a stone fortress between us. More tears spilled down my cheeks.  
  
Again I heard the confusion in his voice. "But you said it was the Commodore who'd asked you to marry him?" Jack shrugged then, making a quizzical face. "Which isn't such a bad thing, really. You betrayin' that prig, I mean. Man has a spike up his arse. Ask me, the man needs somethin' to bring him down a few pegs."  
  
I smiled a little through my tears.  
  
"As for all your worries about betrayin' dear William, I think your purity is probably the least of his concerns just now. Besides which, we're most likely goin' to die on this bloody rock anyway. I think your slow, tortuous death from starvation will more than pay for all your sins, don't you?"  
  
I cast the pirate a quick sidelong glance. "You're trying to make me feel better," I joked. He saw my grin, small though it was. My heart wasn't in it, but it felt good to pretend.  
  
Jack's smile brightened his face. ~And~ my mood, which the astute pirate must have discerned. He tossed me my bottle of rum, long-since forgotten. He raised his own in salute. "To us, Elizabeth Swann. May we find safe harbor, whether in this world or the next." He clanked his bottle against mine, tilted his head back and drank deeply. But I couldn't; my head pounded and my stomach sickened at the very notion of drinking more rum. While he wasn't looking, I furtively splashed a few swallows on the bonfire.  
  
Where liquor touched, flames and smoke shot violently skyward. My eyes widened in shock. Jack, it seemed, had not noticed.  
  
"Ahhh." He wiped his mouth dry on a sleeve. Without warning, he pulled me under his arm, a possessive embrace. And despite everything that had happened between us, I let him. "It happened," he said, "the day after we'd set sail for the Isla del Muerta."  
  
"What did?" I frowned.  
  
"The mutiny, luv." He smiled down at me. His lips brushed my cheek in a quick caress, his whiskers tickling. "As I recall, I still owe you that story."  
  
Oh, yes. Our game. The kiss that had started my downfall.  
  
And so Jack Sparrow recited his tale while I watched his face grow haggard with the memories it brought. Loss of his best friend. Loss of his ship. Loss of everything he had believed to be his own. Each bereavement ... for that is what they were ... had taken its toll on the pirate, body and soul; each had cut a piece from his spirit. I saw the torment of those losses, watched as he drank rum to ease a never-ending agony. A lot of rum. And I, in turn, splashed my own bit by tiny bit on the blaze and was ceaselessly amazed by the near-explosive results.  
  
Slowly, a plan began to form.  
  
It wasn't hard, urging Jack to drunkenness. There was no one on the island but ourselves; no one to threaten him; no one to attack him; no one to steal from him. Our very solitude made him lower his guard. My steady reminders of how he had lost the ~Black Pearl~ increased his intake, as did mention of Will's capture and Bill Turner's watery grave.  
  
I would like to think Jack drank from guilt as well, for so callously plying an innocent girl with liquor and then taking advantage of her loss of common sense. But Jack Sparrow was a pirate, after all, and I wasn't sure he was capable of such gentlemanly remorse.  
  
That night I learned that as a man drinks, there comes a time when the drink takes over. A certain quantity of rum imbibed simply calls for more and more to join it. My task grew easier after Jack reached that point. He insisted I teach him my pirate song and I happily complied, spinning with him around our bonfire, collapsing with him in the sand. I listened to his prattle about the ~Black Pearl~ and freedom, watching in satisfaction as he at last finished his entire bottle of rum and passed out.  
  
I dragged him to a safe distance from the crackling flames, then sat for a long while beside him, gazing into his face while the ocean sang songs of accusation and deceit. My conscience chafed, looking into the face of Captain Jack Sparrow, my ... lover. My first. So handsome, beneath all the dirt and grime; the scars, proclaiming his legend true. With a visceral thrill, I remembered the fever of his kisses, the feel of calloused hands on my body. I remembered his kindness, the gentleness of his touch as he eased me into womanhood. Later, his ardor, the fierceness of his passion as he brought me to pleasures I had never imagined possible, as he made the world crash and shatter around us and ...  
  
No! I would not recall that! I was Elizabeth Swann, daughter of the governor of Jamaica. It was bad enough, what I had done; what I had let Jack Sparrow do.  
  
I refused to dwell on how much I had enjoyed it.  
  
I swallowed back sudden tears, and I wasn't sure if they were tears of remorse for deceiving Jack, or tears of sheer weariness. Perhaps I cried because in one night both childhood and innocence had ended in a pirate's embrace and, in so doing, my girlish dreams of this man had all come true. Or maybe ... maybe they had not ...  
  
I cupped Sparrow's cheek in my hand, a farewell of sorts, as I fantasized about a future that could never be with a man I could never have. I imagined myself in men's clothing with my hair cropped short, standing beside Jack Sparrow while we sailed the high seas together. Would it be so bad, I wondered, to ~not~ burn the rum? To stay on this island, drinking and making love, and simply trust the Fates to send a merchant ship or smuggler our way? Would it be so terribly wrong to give in, even for a little while, to passions so newly awakened?  
  
After all I had been through, would anyone really blame me for such weakness?  
  
I had almost decided to chance it when Jack grumbled in his sleep. He smiled, flailing a drunken caress at my breast and slurred, "There's a good girl, Giselle ..."  
  
Giselle?  
  
~Giselle!~  
  
I shot up to my feet, scattering sand across the pirate's sleeping form. I scowled fiercely down at him; I ground my teeth. My fists were white- knuckled with fury. Too angry for tears, I snarled, "Bloody pirate. ~Bloody rum~. Vile, disgusting, nasty drink. Rum's what got me into this mess, Jack Sparrow. Rum is going to get me out." I started away. Stopped and whirled back, my voice low with rage. "You deserve to lose the bloody rum."  
  
Sparrow could lie around doing nothing for the next month for all I cared, but I was going to be rescued. Not only would I be rescued, but I would rescue Will Turner as well. At least ~he~ was a gentleman.  
  
I stalked past the bonfire to the rum runners' cache. I spared no more energy on silly notions and childish, girlish fantasies.  
  
... continued ... 


	2. Peas in a Pod: Part the Second

Peas in a Pod Part the Second  
  
by Saahira  
  
By the time we reached Port Royal, I knew I was pregnant. Never before had the merest sight of food, nor the faintest whiff of it carried on a breeze, made my belly cramp with nausea. Never before had the ocean's gentle swaying sent me scurrying to the rail to spill my stomach down amid the waves.  
  
All my companions being the pompous, self-righteous, self-important males that they were, assumed my illness nothing more than a weak woman's innately inferior constitution suffering the aftermath of too much fear and excitement. I fluttered and fretted and encouraged that belief. If they suspected anything more, they hid their thoughts very carefully from me.  
  
There were no other women aboard the ~Dauntless~. I had no one to talk to about my situation, no one whose counsel I trusted.  
  
My mind raced for solutions and found none.  
  
I found myself yearning for Will's companionship. However, in deference to my engagement to Commodore Norrington, the man I loved kept his distance. He spent most of his time roaming the deck in Jack Sparrow's company, and on the rare occasion we did meet, he remained flawlessly polite and impeccably proper. His eyes were so sad though that I doubted I could burden him even had I the opportunity. It would hurt too much, seeing his friendship for me turn to loathing.  
  
As for my father, I could never admit my shame to him. I was his little girl, his darling, his baby; I could not face his disappointment. The knowledge, every time I met his gaze, that he knew I had willingly given myself to a lowly, despicable criminal. Knowing I had failed him so utterly would surely be the end of me.  
  
And then there was Jack Sparrow himself, who remained even further removed from me than did Will Turner. That he kept our secret I had no doubt; he was that much of a gentleman, at least. Or perhaps he merely feared the Commodore's wrath should my fiancé learn of our intimacy. Our eyes met on occasion, our gazes would lock and fill with memory of that night. Then one or the other of us would look away. Would Jack be sympathetic to my plight, I wondered? Would he care that I bore his child? Or would he shrug the pregnancy away as entirely my problem? So many men would do exactly that; and he was, after all, a pirate.  
  
James Norrington became my only hope for salvation. He would never lower himself to impropriety before our marriage; therefore, he would know beyond doubt that the child was not his. That he would reject me should he discover the shameful truth, that I had willingly surrendered my virtue to Jack Sparrow, I knew. But I could tell him a story of ravishment by Captain Barbossa instead. I could weep and plead and beg for James' mercy. He was too honorable to deny me because of abuse so far beyond my control. He would wed me and thereby legitimize my child; then later, when I had given him his own children to love, perhaps my firstborn's parentage would no longer matter so much to him.  
  
I would have to wait until the last of Barbossa's crew had been hanged, however, before telling James my story. Then there would be no one left to dispute my claim. Yes, that hope was all I had to cling to.  
  
I didn't expect that plan to fall apart quite so completely.  
  
On the day of Sparrow's hanging, when Will declared his love for me, my heart literally stopped beating. I couldn't breath, and I felt weak with the shock of it. It was an easy thing, pretending to faint. Later, standing by Will's side, defending the father of the tiny life within me, I knew I could never marry James Norrington. With Will, the man I truly loved, I would find a happier path.  
  
I arranged to meet Will that very night at the smithy. I was going to tell him the truth of my situation. I was going to tell him everything that had transpired between myself and Jack Sparrow on the island. I planned to be completely honest with him, for I didn't want our life together to begin with a lie.  
  
But Will's eyes were so adoring as he gazed into mine. His touch was so careful. His kiss so chaste and reverent. He told me that he loved me. He told me that he worshiped me. He told me that I was perfect, an angel come to earth. And that he was glad he had saved himself for me; glad that our wedding night would be the first time for us both.  
  
I wanted to tell him, truly I did. But just as when I had feared his friendship would turn to loathing, so now did I fear his love would turn to hatred.  
  
You must understand! I did what I had to do, to protect myself and my baby, and even to protect Will himself. Certainly I'm not the first woman to practice such deceit nor, I'm sure, will I be the last.  
  
A touch, a kiss. A yearning glance. A misplaced hand, shyly withdrawn. Jack had said he respected anyone willing to do whatever was necessary. I wondered if he would respect what I did that night, seducing the man I loved while carefully letting him think himself the seducer, while letting him believe that we were both simply carried away by the power of our love. I played the innocent maiden stirred to impropriety by Will Turner's passion. I tried to lose myself in my love for him but with every unsure, awkward caress Will gave me, I remembered the surety of Jack Sparrow's touch. When Will entered me I cried out in pain, emulating the instant Jack Sparrow had stolen my maidenhead. While Jack had trapped my cry in a kiss, thus beginning our slow ascent toward ecstasy, Will had instead apologized and sweetly offered to stop before we went any further.  
  
With both men I cried afterward, and both times it was for the same two reasons. I cried because Will Turner, the man I loved more than life itself, had not been my first. I cried because I wanted to forget how Jack Sparrow had made my passion burn.  
  
A week later, I told Will that I was pregnant. He was elated, God bless him, assuming the child to be his own. He held me and kissed me, and told me that he loved me. There were tears in his eyes, and I knew they were tears of joy. If he wondered at how swiftly I had discovered the pregnancy, he said nothing of it. We were married a fortnight later.  
  
My father suspected my illicit liaison with Will, of course, as did Commodore Norrington. Why else would my wedding be so rushed? Tongues wagged and tales were told, nasty gossip was passed between neighbors and friends. But no one knew the truth, and I took comfort knowing that soon enough some other unfortunate girl would inherit my notoriety. My child would be born to two loving, lawfully-wedded parents and that, ultimately, was the only thing that mattered.  
  
Months passed. Happy months, for Will and I found much joy in our marriage. We learned one another's likes and dislikes, our idiosyncrasies and secrets. I learned that he hated turnips, he learned that I loved to lap cream like a kitten. We discovered that he could embroider more skillfully than I could, which caused many nights of teasing and laughter. We learned how to pleasure one another, and I no longer dreamed quite so longingly of the pirate. I thought nothing could ever endanger my wonderful new life as Mrs. William Turner.  
  
And then he showed up on our doorstep.  
  
I was well into my seventh month (although I admitted to only six) with my belly round and full, my condition obvious even at a glance. I sat in the parlor of our modest home, sewing the hem of a new blanket for the baby, when Will appeared in the doorway, beaming.  
  
"I have a surprise for you, Elizabeth," he grinned.  
  
"Oh?" I smiled, letting the blanket drape across the breadth of my belly. "And what might that be?"  
  
"Not a what. A ~who~."  
  
I frowned, not understanding. "A who?" I repeated.  
  
"That's right. Come on, darling, I'll show you."  
  
I set my sewing aside and let Will help me to my feet. I steadied my balance, wincing only a little as the baby adjusted its own position. I dreaded the thought of how clumsy I would be when the baby, and my belly, swelled to their full proportions.  
  
Will led me through our home, urging me into the kitchen.  
  
My maid, Estrella, stood in the kitchen's far corner, her eyes big as saucers, wringing her hands in dismay. She stared at the opened pantry door, looking for all the world like she wanted to bolt and run. At first I thought a snake must have slithered inside; then realized in that same instant that a snake would hardly be counted as Will's surprise, much less a pleasant one. There were sounds coming from inside the pantry that a snake could never manage. Something ... some~one~ ... was shoving things about with little consideration for organization or order.  
  
"Bloody hell, woman," came the loudly grumbled comment from deep within that shadowed recess, "I thought you said there were some greens in here?"  
  
I knew that voice! Sweet heaven, I'd thought never to hear it again!  
  
"Oh," I breathed. I felt suddenly dizzy. Would fainting give our secret away? "Jack Sparrow?" I whispered, too stunned to say anything more.  
  
"None other," Will happily confirmed, eyes thankfully focused on the pantry and not on me.  
  
"But what is he ...? What if the Commodore ...?"  
  
"Will?!" Shadows in the pantry shifted and moved. I saw the flash of a dirty coat and dark dusty boots. A worn old tricorne set above long black hair tangled with braids and beads and trinkets. I saw a familiar smile sparked with gold when Jack leaned through the doorway and grinned at us.  
  
"Bethie." The hat was politely whisked off. Jack dipped his scruffy chin in the smallest of bows, then planted the hat back atop his head. His grin seemed genuine. "S'good to see you again, luv. Will, where are those bloody greens?"  
  
"What on earth?" I stammered as Will abandoned me to find the missing vegetables. He moved past Jack and disappeared inside the pantry while I clung to the kitchen doorframe for support. Did my voice really sound as frightened as I thought it did? "I mean what ... why did you come here, Jack?"  
  
He smiled. With Will's back turned to him and poor Estrella too flustered to notice, Jack caught my gaze and held it. He said, "I met a sailor from Port Royal a while back, he told me the good news." He dropped his eyes to the swell of my belly, silently acknowledging the baby there. The glance was brief, though to me it seemed eternal. Eyes back on mine, he said, "I thought to congratulate you in person."  
  
My hand cupped my baby, a vain gesture of protection. "You should leave," I told him firmly. Jack Sparrow wasn't stupid; he would know I didn't mean the danger of capture alone.  
  
"Oh, aye," he readily agreed. He tilted his head, contemplating me. "But not just yet, eh?" He frowned as if at some sudden notion, then abruptly vanished back inside the pantry. His voice floated out, impatient with my husband's delay. "Haven't you found 'em yet, mate? Ahhh!" Sparrow reappeared, his expression triumphant as he cradled a thick bundle of spinach in one arm and dangled a half-dozen carrots from the other hand.  
  
Will exited behind him, holding watercress and a fistful of tomatoes. "Estrella," he called happily, "see what you can cook up with these, will you? Captain Sparrow is hungry."  
  
"Not just hungry, mate. ~Starved~. We been livin' off nuthin but breads and shriveled up potatoes for near a month now. You have no idea how that can make a man crave somethin' fresh."  
  
"I can only imagine," Will grinned, depositing his load on our kitchen's large oak table.  
  
The pirate eagerly tumbled his spinach down beside the rest, but when Estrella reached hesitant hands to take the carrots from him Jack pulled back with a wrathful scowl. Wisely, Estrella let him keep them.  
  
"We can wait in the parlor," Will smiled cordially. "Its warmer in there; I don't want Elizabeth getting chilled."  
  
"Mmpfh humm," Sparrow agreed, already crunching carrot.  
  
The short walk down the hallway to the parlor seemed endless. The walls sifted and flowed, the floor wobbled and swayed.  
  
"Elizabeth?" Will asked worriedly, his arm circling the thickness of my girth to steady me.  
  
"I'm just a little dizzy," I smiled. I patted the arm that held me, soothing away my husband's concern. "Seeing Jack again ... I wasn't expecting it, that's all. I'm fine, really."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Absolutely!" I replied with feigned gaiety. Will helped ease me into the chair where I had earlier been so peacefully hemming my baby's blanket. The fire crackled and popped in the hearth, a deceptively cheerful song.  
  
"She do this often?" Jack asked, waving his carrot my way, speaking of my dizziness. I thought I saw more concern in his eyes than he meant to show.  
  
"No," Will smiled kindly, his gaze fixed lovingly on mine, "not often. Only when pirates show up raiding our cupboards. She's a rock the rest of the time."  
  
"Mmmm." Jack's reply was noncommittal. Another carrot met its untimely demise. I realized he was even eating the scruffy green tops.  
  
My anxiety for him was genuine. "Jack, are you alright?"  
  
"What? ~Oh~." Lips stretching wide, he lifted his current half-devoured victim. "Told you, luv, we been at sea too long. Ran out of foodstuffs a couple weeks back. The crew is ... reprovisionin' even as we speak."  
  
"You mean they're out stealing food?" Will supplied knowingly, though his words lacked rancor or accusation. His hand rested atop my shoulder, caress and comfort all in one warm touch.  
  
"Can't say for sure, mate. Our last venture was successful, so they have enough new gold to make their purchases. Whether they pay for it or not is up to them, innit? Seein's how their Captain is here mindin' his own business with you two fine upstandin' citizens and doin' nuthin wrong at all. Which I'm sure you'll tell Commodore Norrington should the need arise." Another carrot crunched. Jack smiled endearingly around it.  
  
I refused to acknowledge how that smile made my heart flutter. I was a married woman now after all, and soon to be a mother! I loved my husband more than I loved my own life. It was wrong, even foolhardy, to feel what I was feeling. It was ~bad!~  
  
Still my heart fluttered, remembering intimacies better forgotten. Inside the baby fluttered too, and shifted restlessly, and I wondered if perhaps it sensed its father's presence.  
  
I reached up to Will's hand on my shoulder, entwined my fingers through his. I drew strength from his devotion, his love. For my husband's sake, I could be the rock he believed me to be.  
  
"And what exactly ~was~ your last venture, Jack?" Will asked curiously.  
  
Jack Sparrow was eating his last carrot more slowly. He prowled our small parlor like a restless cat, unobtrusively peeking in flower vases and baskets, casually opening boxes and drawers and looking inside. I didn't believe he would actually steal from us; or at least, I didn't believe he would rob Will. Perhaps it was simply the ~habit~ of thievery that made him snoop.  
  
"Spanish merchant," he said after upturning a particularly promising music box. He frowned, listened to the tinny melody lilting from within it, then snapped the lid shut and continued his lazy perusal of our belongings. "Got a fortune in textiles and spices. Olive oil. A few tidy chests of gold and silver coins. Unfortunately, the armada trailin' it took offense to our ... acquisition."  
  
"They attacked you?" Will asked worriedly.  
  
"Only two of the four. Two bloody man-o-wars, mate. Well-nigh a hundred gun each."  
  
"But what did you do?"  
  
Jack made a scoffing noise as he opened the armoire and peered inside, squinting into shadows. "What d'you think we did, mate? We ran."  
  
"The ~Black Pearl~ ran?" Will seemed astounded by the notion.  
  
"She's the fastest ship in the Caribbean," Jack answered dismissively, removing and shaking a drawer, perhaps checking for a hidden compartment. "Speed's a weapon in its own right, savvy? Besides, no worries," he slipped the drawer back in place, "I'll think of a proper tale to tell later on. Anyway," he straightened, "that's why we ran out of provisions. Bloody Spaniards kept after us for near a month. We couldn't put in to port, not with them on our tail. Amazing," he added, looking suddenly thoughtful, "how weevils can look almost appetizin' when you're hungry enough."  
  
My stomach churned, picturing it.  
  
"So," Jack grinned, stepping nearer, completely changing the subject, "you're havin' a baby, eh?"  
  
"That's right." Will virtually glowed with paternal pride while I felt myself grow wan and pale.  
  
"Didn't waste no time then?" the pirate added. Cagily, I thought.  
  
"We didn't even wait for our wedding," Will admitted. Misreading my horrified glance, he chuckled, "Its alright, Elizabeth. Jack isn't one to judge."  
  
"Of course not," I whispered. At least I think I whispered it aloud. I couldn't hear past the heavy thudding of my heartbeat. Inside, the baby kicked and jiggled excitedly; forcefully enough that the men noticed..  
  
"Jack ... here, give me your hand." Without asking anyone's permission, Will grabbed the pirate's hand and pressed it against the rolling expanse of my abdomen.  
  
My heart's thudding stopped briefly as it flipped and squeezed tight. It tripped and started up again at a maddening, crippling, desperate pace, like a trapped bird battering itself against its cage.  
  
I was paralyzed by a myriad of strong emotions, not the least of which was fear. I lifted my eyes because they were the only things I seemed capable of moving; slowly, I raised them to Jack Sparrow's face. His concentration was fastened to the movement beneath his palm where my dress ebbed and flowed across flesh like ocean waves across turbulent seas. His brows were puckered slightly beneath the worn red bandana. His expression was unreadable.  
  
Did he suspect? Oh, my God, did he ~know~?  
  
But how could he? No. No, he couldn't know. Not a man like Jack Sparrow, who had foresworn home and hearth, marriage and fatherhood. A man like that couldn't possible suspect anything amiss. Or if he did, he wouldn't care.  
  
Will beamed at him, so proud his child, so delighted. I felt like crying.  
  
"Remarkable, isn't it?" Will smiled gladly. "That tiny life growing inside the woman I love. It's a miracle, Jack." His fingers tightened around mine, possessively.  
  
Jack's lips twisted slightly, an indication that he wasn't quite as charmed by my pregnancy as was my husband. He withdrew his hand, rubbing fingers against palm as though he had touched something vaguely distasteful. His expression was reminiscent of a man confronted by awful things. All of which gave me hope.  
  
"If you say so, mate. Not my cup of tea though, savvy? Speakin' of which ..." Once again the clever pirate switched topics. He smiled hopefully at Will. "Might you have a bottle or two of rum lyin' about someplace? Just a wee bit of somethin' to help wet a man's whistle?"  
  
Will smiled lightheartedly. "We have water, Jack. And some milk. And tea, of course."  
  
Jack's anguish was priceless; I would have laughed had I not already been so unnerved just by his being there. "And nuthin else? Nuthin more ... stout?"  
  
My husband laughed softly, indulgently. He loved this man. Would he still love him if he knew what Jack Sparrow had done to me on that dreadful island?  
  
"Tell you what, mate." Jack dug inside a coat pocket, then tossed Will a silver coin. It twirled merry cartwheels through the air, flashing bright reflections from the hearth. Will caught it in mid-flight. "Fetch me a bottle from someplace then, eh? Just enough to get me through that fine dinner your maid is fixin' me."  
  
Will frowned mildly at the coin in his hand. "But its late, Jack."  
  
"And gettin' no earlier."  
  
"And this is more than what one bottle of rum will cost."  
  
"Then fetch me two. Or three. However many that coin will buy." The pirate grinned like some feral beast, leaned conspiratorially close to Will and murmured, "Get old Jack a good store for next time he visits, eh?"  
  
"Next time?" I repeated hollowly.  
  
"Will you be alright, Elizabeth. Until I get back?" He was going. Will was going to leave me alone with Jack Sparrow! But to protest his leaving ... no, I couldn't, that would only call attention to my distress. Make Will wonder at its origin.  
  
The thought occurred that I was being paranoid. I would be fine. Jack was oblivious to my child's lineage; or at least, unconcerned by it. And far better to have Jack alone with me than alone with Will, where I chanced having the pirate reveal to my husband what had transpired between us. I drew a deep steadying breath, calmed myself. I could do this. I would be fine. ~Everything~ would be fine.  
  
I composed my features into serene lines. "Of course I'll be fine. Jack won't let anything happen to me. Will you, Jack?"  
  
"I shall guard the fair damsel with my very life, William."  
  
"Alright then. I'll be back home as soon as I can, darling." Will leaned over me, kissed me gently on the lips. He deepened the kiss, and I did not protest the intimacy. As Will himself had pointed out, Jack Sparrow was not one to judge.  
  
The parlor seemed suddenly very empty without Will there. Together in our silence, Jack Sparrow and I listened to the sounds of my husband shrugging into his coat. Together, we heard the door slam shut behind him.  
  
Jack stood before the hearth hallowed in firelight's golden glow, his hands clasped behind his back. He stared past me to the night shrouded window and the city without. When he noticed me watching him, one corner of his mouth stretched out in a small, familiar half-smile. Without comment, he paced slowly across the room and back again, no longer my lazily snooping guest. His expression had grown strangely somber, his demeanor that of a man needing movement perhaps as much as he needed air filling his lungs.  
  
He stopped inches from my chair and looked down at me.  
  
"How far along?" he asked quietly, nodding his scruffy chin to indicate my swollen belly.  
  
"Six months." Amazing how easily the lie sprang to my lips, how easily my face smoothed in a sincere, honest smile. I had had several months to perfect it.  
  
Jack leaned down very slowly. He braced his hands on the arms of my chair, his face so near mine I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. Beside my ear, he whispered, "Bollocks."  
  
Startled, I watched him straighten. His eyes, like sharp chips of obsidian, held to my face.  
  
I gathered pride around myself as shield and armor. Haughtily, I replied, "I think I would be the best to know that, Captain Sparrow. A mother ~always~ knows."  
  
"Indeed, a mother does."  
  
My heart pounded anew. Ignoring his implication, I levered myself up and out of the chair. I was surprised when I found his strong hands on my arms, steadying me while the baby lurched and I sought balance.  
  
"Thank you," I said softly, gazing intently at the safety of my feet. Or rather, where my feet would have been had the baby not been blocking my view.  
  
"You're welcome." He released me. Still, he stared.  
  
I moved away from him, seeking the more innocuous view from that same window he had found so fascinating. Outside, darkness held sway over Port Royal, shadows reigned supreme. I wondered how many honest merchants and grocers were even now being robbed of their goods by the ~Black Pearl's~ crew?  
  
I made a great pretense of studying the star-strewn sky, and lower, those night-shrouded buildings and the black streets bisecting them, pretending nothing more oblique than anticipation of Will's return. In reality, I watched Jack Sparrow's reflection in the glass as he, in turn, watched me.  
  
A lifetime of empty niceties learned in genteel society, skills necessary when dealing with those delicate and easily insulted souls born to wealth and privilege, soared to my aid. I smiled pleasantly as if untroubled by his presence. I chattered with vapid joviality. "The closest tavern is only three streets over, Jack, so Will shouldn't be too long. I swear, he has the longest, fastest legs of any man I've ever known! I remember one day in particular, I had a terrible craving for codfish and papaya ... can you ~imagine~? Will had to go down to the docks for the fish, then run all the way across the city to find a vendor selling ripe papayas. It seemed like he'd only just left and there he was back again, a wrapped codfish in one hand..."  
  
Jack approached me from behind, his image looming larger and nearer in the telltale glass.  
  
"... and ... and three ripe papayas balanced in the other." My voice sounded nervous and edgy. I kept talking, hoping to forestall anything the pirate had to say. "He was gasping for air, ready to topple off his feet, poor thing, but I could see he was quite pleased with himself for what he'd done. He could barely even ~speak~ mind you, yet he presented me with the fish and fruit with courtly elegance, as if they were a queen's jewels or ..."  
  
"Have you told him?" Jack asked quietly.  
  
"... or some other royal boon worth a king's ransom in gold or, or jewels." God, I was babbling! I had to get a grip on myself! "He ... he collapsed in that very chair there, the one covered in gardenias and ivies, pretty isn't it? and then he ..."  
  
"I take it the answer is no, then."  
  
I stopped my babbling. I turned my eyes to meet his dark, steady gaze. No use pretending, I realized, not with this man; no point in lying to the crown prince of all liars. "What should I have told him, Jack?" My voice was so low I could barely hear it myself. At least it didn't quaver the way I quavered inside. "Should I have told him that I betrayed him on that awful island? Should I have broken his heart forever?"  
  
Brief disgust, there and gone. "You hold a rather high opinion of your own worth, Mrs. Turner, believin' something ~you~ did could break someone ~else's~ spirit. Or is it that you think so little of our William?"  
  
"What?" I breathed.  
  
But Jack, always changing the subject, had already switched to another. Or ... maybe he hadn't.  
  
Abruptly, he asked, "Do you think William is stupid?"  
  
His question took me aback. I stammered, "Well, no. Of ~course~ not! Will is one of the most intelligent ..."  
  
"Then wouldn't it be worse if he found out on his own?"  
  
A sudden cold chill crept up my spine. I shivered as if standing barefoot in snow. "You're going to tell him about ... us," I whispered desolately. Not a question; rather, a hopeless acknowledgement of the inevitable.  
  
"I doubt I'll have to," he said, and he glanced down at the baby within me.  
  
I raised my chin in proud denial. "I'm only six months along, Captain Sparrow. I don't see how that could possibly ..."  
  
"Seven months if you're a day," he stated flatly. Frowning mildly, he looked up to meet my eyes, a question in his own. "Do you think me inexperienced in such things, Elizabeth?"  
  
"You're no woman's husband, Jack." I sounded more confident than I felt, for I really knew very little about Jack Sparrow, and none of it concerning his life away from piracy. "What could you possibly know about," I blushed and glanced away, for such things were not discussed between men and women, "about pregnancy and childbirth?"  
  
"I've four of my own, or so I'm told. Least those are the ones I know about; there's probably more that I don't."  
  
"Four?" I couldn't have been more stunned had Barbossa's ghost jumped out from behind him and shouted, "Boo!"  
  
"That's right. Two boys and a girl."  
  
"Two ... boys and ... a ..."  
  
A quick flash of gold and ivory teeth. "Aye. The girl and one of the lads I can't deny. Spittin' image of me, as it were. Like I'd spat 'em out myself." Paternal pride? ~Paternal pride in a pirate~? No, no it had to be something else I saw lighting Jack Sparrow's eyes. Some other odd joy shining there, something far removed from a father's love for his children. Pirates were simply not capable of such purity of emotion. "The other boy is too fair to be my get despite his mother's assertions, but he's a good lad so I've claimed him."  
  
"And their mother ...?"  
  
"Mothers," Jack interrupted succinctly. "Four children from four mothers. Makes it rather simple to keep up with, don't you think?"  
  
Inconsistency nagged. I allowed myself a superior little smirk as I corrected him. "Two boys and one girl do not make four children, Jack."  
  
"Doesn't it ... Elizabeth?"  
  
I felt my face flush crimson with embarrassment. "You're wrong," I whispered hoarsely, looking away from him. "You're very, very wrong. I'm only six months along."  
  
Jack moved closer, almost but not quite touching me. I could feel the heat of his body, could smell the sweetness of carrots still lingering on his breath. I was reminded of one wonderful, impassioned night on a lost and lonely island. I closed my eyes. Yet even in the darkness behind my shut lids, his soft voice found me.  
  
"What will you tell dear William should the babe be born gypsy dark?" I opened my eyes. I raised them to meet his. Starlight from the window shone in the black depths of his gaze.  
  
"W-what?"  
  
His mouth crimped. His head tilted, spilling black braids and colorful beads to one side. His tone was sternly disbelieving. "Don't tell me you haven't considered it?"  
  
Nose in the air. Lips pursed. Proud. "I'm sure I don't know what ..."  
  
"Elizabeth," he hissed, interrupting my renewed denial. For the first time, I saw real impatience in his face. It was the same expression he had worn on the island when explaining how Will's attempted rescue of me had thwarted Jack's own plans to rescue all of us from Barbossa and reclaim the ~Black Pearl~. "Must we play these silly games, milady?"  
  
"Jack, I ..."  
  
"If nothing else, Elizabeth, there should be truth between us. Now more than ever, don't you think?"  
  
I dropped my gaze. I had no words with which to answer him.  
  
"Have you not considered it?" he pressed.  
  
"I ... not really," I reluctantly admitted. I wrung my hands nervously, watching them. "There was nothing to be done about it. The child will be as it is meant to be. What would be the point of worrying myself senseless over something beyond my control?"  
  
He studied me for a long moment before saying, "You could have told William."  
  
"I couldn't."  
  
"So you lied to him instead?"  
  
"I never lied!" I declared hotly. The anger was brief, however, and left me feeling diminished in its wake. Weakly ... yes, ashamed ... I finished, "I simply never told him the truth."  
  
Lips crimping, Jack murmured, "And they call ~me~ a scoundrel."  
  
It was too much. Affronted, I raised my hand to strike him.  
  
Jack easily caught my wrist. He held me captive by it, preventing my flight way from him. He moved closer. Intimately close. My heart responded with a flutter that had nothing whatsoever to do with fear or anger. I hated myself for it, yet it fluttered nonetheless.  
  
Lips on the corner of my mouth. Whiskers tickling my cheek. Images flooded my mind of another night, when the glorious hues of an island sunset bathed our naked, straining bodies in pastel shades. Remembering, I felt myself melting in to him, just as I had then. I sighed when Jack released my wrist and settled his hands on the wideness of my waist; not an embrace, but an intimacy nevertheless.  
  
Sandwiched between us, the baby squirmed, kicking at its father.  
  
Jack pulled back only far enough to look down at the bulge of cloth and hidden flesh between us. With a tenderness that nearly broke my heart, his hands followed the expanded contours of my body, from thickened waist across distended flesh, exploring the roundness of my abdomen. He cupped the baby in strong, strangely gentle hands. The baby wiggled and stretched for him. It danced as if with joy. Jack's face filled with emotions I would never have imaged in a pirate.  
  
"Jack ..."  
  
"Shhhh." He looked up, and I saw myself reflected in his eyes. He leaned forward, his mouth brushing mine, his hands still holding our baby. Against my lips, Jack whispered, "I shall send you a portion of gold every year for the child's upkeep. Should our dear William become so affluent as to make the gold unnecessary, you will save each portion as you receive it, and then give the whole of it to the child when he comes of age. Savvy?"  
  
"Alright," I agreed a little breathlessly.  
  
His voice was so soft, his tone so seductive. How could this man affect me thusly when I loved my husband so dearly? It was wrong, I knew that. I was a well-bred lady, not some dirty trollop from the streets, and well- bred ladies were simply not prone to the lustful impulses that plagued women of lower birth. By blood and heritage, I was immune to such lascivious inclinations. Besides which, Will Turner was my life, my world! I was the luckiest woman on earth to have him for my husband. But oh, the warmth of Jack Sparrow's hands, the taste of his lips ... it was surely some spell the pirate had cast, I realized; some romantic glamour he had set upon me, just as he had on the island, for otherwise I would never behave with such impiety.  
  
I did not love him. I could never love such a lawless, depraved individual. I knew that beyond doubt because I loved my husband so very much, and what I felt for Jack Sparrow was nothing like what I felt for Will. This ... this ~passion~, this ~burning~ ... this was what Will and I shared in the sanctity of our marriage bed. Why then did I feel it for this disreputable man whom I did not love? A disturbing thought intruded: Was it ... could it be ... was ~this~ what some referred to as raw animal lust? Could I be so sinful as to feel ~that~?  
  
His hands caught the baby's thrusts of elbows and feet. Still softly, still sweetly, mouth lingering against mine yet never opening to deepen caress into kiss, Jack whispered, "And should I find, Elizabeth, that you are raisin' my child improperly, I shall make all haste to come here and snatch him away from you."  
  
I drew back with a start, my eyes wide and staring, all my dilemmas of love and lust forgotten. Suddenly, the fluttering of my heart meant something else entirely.  
  
"What ... what did you say?" I whispered. At least, I think I spoke it aloud. I must have, for the pirate answered me.  
  
He stared into my eyes, and I saw nothing of humor in his, no teasing. No cruelty either. Jack Sparrow was deadly serious.  
  
"You heard me, Mrs. Turner." Sparrow's hands fell away from my belly, ending intimacies both real and imagined. Still too close. I took one small, stumbling step back from him. One trembling hand lifted to cover my madly thrumming heart.  
  
"You can't. Jack, you ~wouldn't~."  
  
His eyes narrowed and I saw in them, in his expression, a welter of emotions I could not fully identify. Love, but not for me. Pride. A determined possessiveness. Quietly, he explained, "My oldest son was given to me by his mother. She didn't want him growing up on the streets of Tortuga, so I took him. My youngest boy I took when I found him beaten bloody raw by the mother's new husband; I killed the man before I left with the boy. My daughter I took when I found out her mother planned to auction her off in a brothel after she got her first blood. She only turned seven last month."  
  
"My God," I whispered, horrified. Then another disturbing thought occurred. I frowned, "Surely you don't keep them on the ship?"  
  
"My children won't grow up to be pirates, Elizabeth. Not unless they have the calling. No, I've placed them in a convent school in Hispaniola. I've ensured they'll receive all the good care and proper education that I never had."  
  
"And do you see them, Jack? Do you visit them?" Suddenly, that seemed a very important thing to know.  
  
He dropped his gaze, again studying the now blessedly quiescent life within me; the baby had fallen asleep. "Every chance I get," he admitted almost sadly, "though not as often as I'd like." His eyes found mine again. He said decisively, "I may be a depraved and lawless man, as they say I am, Elizabeth. But I take care of my own. Savvy?"  
  
His implication included more than the mere issuance of a yearly stipend of gold. Behind the safety of pride and formality, I replied, "Well, you certainly have nothing to worry about here, Captain Sparrow. This child will be loved and well cared for."  
  
"Will it?" Jack's tone grew terse, almost snappish. He removed the careful distance I had put between us by stepping forward. "You have proven yourself as disreputable as I am, Mrs. Turner. Peas in a pod, remember, darlin'? I want to make sure my child will be safe in your care."  
  
"What?!" I exclaimed somewhat shrilly.  
  
His tone was sarcastic, accusatory. "There you were braggin' about all your high class propriety, spoutin' off about knowin' right from wrong better'n old Jack. Yet findin' yourself alone with a man for the very first time in your prim and proper life, you did not hesitate to open your thighs."  
  
My face flushed scarlet. I could not look at him. "The circumstances ..."  
  
"Do not matter," he interrupted brusquely. "The fact remains that you did it, quite willingly. And still persist in layin' the blame for it on me, I'm sure."  
  
Haughtily: "Babies are not made by only one person, Captain Sparrow."  
  
"No, Mrs. Turner. They are not."  
  
Why would the flush not leave my face? It felt like a flaming banner proclaiming shame.  
  
"Do you think Norrington suspected you were barterin' used goods in exchange for William's rescue?"  
  
I stared at him, mute.  
  
"Not that I blame you, luv. You have a tool and you use it to your advantage. Its no more than what most women do. No more than what any good pirate would do."  
  
"You're wrong," I sighed numbly.  
  
Jack ran the back of one finger along my cheek. "And even now," he murmured, "married and heavy with child as you are, I do believe you would give yourself to me again should I ask you."  
  
I jerked away from him. "I would ~not~," I spat.  
  
"But I'm not asking, luv."  
  
I sputtered a vastly pointless, "Good then."  
  
Jack Sparrow continued relentlessly. "You've lied to your husband. I can only guess at the measures you took to ensure he believed the babe was his." He glanced down at the baby, then up again, almost surly. "And when the little one comes and William sees its none of his, what will you tell him then? A truth he can no longer accept? Or new lies to pad the old?"  
  
"How ~dare~ you speak to me this way!"  
  
"I don't think William will leave you; he's too damned honorable for that. But I doubt he'll enjoy knowin' he was cuckolded and lied to by the woman he loves. And I doubt he'll be happy playin' daddy to a child he knows isn't his."  
  
My heart hammered so hard I thought it would burst forth from my chest. I felt the heat of tears stinging my eyes, and even I wasn't certain if they were born of fury or guilt. I looked down and away so Jack wouldn't see them. I murmured tightly, "And so you would steal away my child. To protect it from ... ~me~?"  
  
"Only if I have to."  
  
My fluttering heart slowed to a dull, leaden weight. It was my turn to change the subject. Or ... maybe I didn't. "The child might look like me, Jack. I am the mother, after all."  
  
I heard Jack's sigh: heavy, resigned, strangely weary. It was a sound lacking all previous animosity. Quietly, almost tenderly, he said, "My father was a bloody Spaniard, luv. My mother was half Italian and half French. There is very little chance the child will be as pale as you need him to be."  
  
Desolation encompassed me body, mind and soul. I saw myself through the clarity of a pirate's eyes and no longer cared that tears spilled openly down my cheeks. "I'm lost," I breathed tremulously. I looked into kohl- rimmed eyes dark as obsidian. "Oh, Jack, I'm ~lost~."  
  
His smile was gentle. He wiped the tears away with a calloused thumb. "Nah," he told me. "You can still turn pirate, Bethie." A pointed glance at my girth. "Though we can't call you 'Slim' anymore, can we?"  
  
I smiled, just a little, through my tears.  
  
"I'm back!" Grinning broadly, Will walked into the parlor still wearing his overcoat. Spliced between his fingers were the narrow necks of four rum bottles. Neither of us had heard him enter the house. Now, seeing Jack and I standing so near one another, seeing the tears marking my face, his smile abruptly vanished. He stopped in mid-stride and frowned at us. "What's wrong? What's happened? Jack?"  
  
Jack Sparrow's smile was immediate, and as sincerely sunny as a bright summer day. "Nuthin's wrong, mate." He left me in favor of Will and the newly arrived rum. Snatching one of the bottles from my husband's hand, uncorking it, he said, "I was just tellin' Bethie about the sad demise of your grandparents." He took a quick swallow, swiped his mouth dry, sighed contentedly, and glanced back my way. "Not my fault breedin' women can't hear a sad tale without goin' all wet and weepy on a man, eh?"  
  
"It was a very sad story," I quickly temporized, blotting my face dry. Seeing Will my heart shattered into a thousand jagged shards.  
  
All unknowing, Will smiled and shook his head dismissively. "I knew my grandparents, Jack. They each died peacefully in their sleep while I was still living in England."  
  
"Not ~those~ grandparents! I meant Bootstrap's mom and dad."  
  
Having placed the three remaining bottles on the bureau, Will looked up curiously. "You knew my father's parents?"  
  
"Nah, but Bill told me about 'em almost as often as he told me about his bloody whelp." Jack smiled charmingly. "Did you know Bill's folks were from Italy?"  
  
"Italy? Really?"  
  
"Aye. Black and swarthy as Spaniards, that's how he described them." Jack glanced in a wall mirror, briefly admiring his own appearance, saying, "Pity Bill didn't inherit their dark good looks." With the hand not holding the bottle, he clapped Will fondly on the back. "But with luck, maybe your little one will have better luck, eh? I swear Bill Turner was an ugly son of a bitch."  
  
Will frowned. "Everyone says I look just like him."  
  
Silence, while Jack made a great show of fast thinking. "Yes, well um ... Bethie!" he exclaimed suddenly, striding energetically toward me, taking my arm in his hand. "What say we share this sad tale of William's Italian grandparents with him so he can cry too? And where the bloody ~hell~ is my supper?!"  
  
Of course I knew what Jack was trying to do. I silently thanked him for it.  
  
... continued ... 


	3. Peas in a Pod: Part the Third Fin

Peas in a Pod Part the Third ~ Fin ~  
  
by Saahira  
  
It was a beautiful night, with a gorged moon spilling milky light through the kitchen windows. Since I had given Estrella the evening off, I sat by myself at the large kitchen table, a single lantern flickering in one corner of the room to augment moonglow. Black shadows hid in corners and slid along baseboards. A soothing outside breeze from the opened backdoor stirred my hair and cooled my face as I labored over my project, applying the last of the icing to my daughter's birthday cake.  
  
Two years old. Two years, yet in that time I had never failed to be amazed by the miracle of her.  
  
Estrella had helped me bake the cake, for I am no chef. She made the batter, and to it I added fresh ripe bananas, smashed into an unrecognizable mush. The icing was also something Estrella had conjured; a singularly sweet mixture, made buttery and honey rich. Any child, she assured me, would love it.  
  
Because it was so gooey, so clinging, it was hard to smear properly smooth. But smooth it I did, with painstaking care. I wanted everything to be perfect.  
  
"Looks like hard work."  
  
I gasped, dropped my wide spoon with a clatter, and nearly fell out of my chair. Which only made him smile.  
  
"Didn't mean to startle you, Bethie."  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
"Well ...only a ~little~." Jack glanced around the dimly lit kitchen. "No maid tonight?"  
  
"No maid," I confirmed, reclaiming the wayward spoon. I primly straightened my spine and assumed a more ladylike posture; ladies, after all, do not slump over birthday cakes no matter how stubborn the icing might be. Neither do ladies show surprise at an unexpected guest arriving for dinner, not even if the guest is a pirate named Jack Sparrow. Though the latter, admittedly, was a harder feat to accomplish.  
  
"Just as well," he commented, "she was a skittery lass." He hooked the leg of the chair beside mine with a booted toe, pulled it out and plopped himself into it.  
  
I spared him a quick glance. "Here for long, Jack?"  
  
"Leavin' before dawn, luv. No sense teasin' the tiger, eh? And speakin' of which, how ~is~ my good friend Norrington?"  
  
"He's getting married next month."  
  
"Oh, so he ~did~ finally find a girl willin' to put up with all his faults then?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
He nodded approvingly. "And William?"  
  
"He's incredible." I sighed dreamily, wondering if Jack saw the contentment in my face when I spoke of my husband. "He's in the parlor just now. He's keeping the baby entertained while I finish this."  
  
"I assume that's harder work than makin' a cake?" He nodded at said cake.  
  
"Indeed it is," I chuckled.  
  
Jack leaned forward to study the bowl wherein the dregs of icing remained. He sniffed loudly. "Banana icing?"  
  
"Banana cake," I corrected him, diligently applying spoon to cake in long, slow, meticulously sweeping motions. It surprised me how casual we were with one another, how at ease, almost as if it had been two days rather than two years since we had last met. Had two years healed all our wounds? I doubted it, but it was nice to think so. I knew it had healed many of mine, and cured many of my confusions. Perhaps that was the difference. "I have no idea what the icing is. Estrella made it before she left tonight."  
  
"Smells sweet."  
  
"She assured me it is."  
  
Jack looked at me askance. "Have you not tried it yourself then?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
I shrugged slightly. "No reason really. I'll have some when we cut it later."  
  
"You'd feed it to the little tyke without tryin' it first?" He scrunched his face, a comical expression. "What if its not fit to eat, Bethie? What if its ... sour? Or poisoned? Servants are always doin' that, you know. Killin' their masters that way."  
  
I smiled, sighed with elaborate patience, and pushed the all but empty bowl toward him. "You try it then, Jack. If ~someone~ has to die, it may as well be a notorious pirate."  
  
Jack quickly pulled the bowl closer, a look of immense satisfaction on his scruffy face. This was, after all, what he had wanted.  
  
When I saw his forefinger darting toward the bowl, I grabbed it. Aghast: "You're not putting that thing in your mouth, are you?"  
  
He frowned into my face, frowned at his finger, frowned at my face again. "What's wrong with it? It's a finger."  
  
"Its a filthy finger. When's the last time you bathed?"  
  
Jack considered it. "Last week. I took a swim in the ocean."  
  
"A swim is not a bath."  
  
"It is if you're a pirate."  
  
"Here." I thrust the still coated spoon into his hand. "Use this."  
  
He eyed it with pleasure, for the icing on it was thick. "You're finished with it?"  
  
"I am now."  
  
"Well ... alright then." He brought the spoon to his mouth and licked it slowly, cautiously, delicately. Then popped the whole thing in his mouth, savoring the sweetness.  
  
"Not dead yet?" I queried dryly.  
  
"Not quite." He rolled the spoon in his mouth. He brought it out and licked it again. Languidly.  
  
Once it might have stirred me to passion, watching the sinuous play of his mouth and tongue. Now I watched him as a parent might watch a happy child. Or as a friend might enjoy a friend's contentment.  
  
Two years is a long time. I had grown up.  
  
With newfound maturity, I waited for him to bring it up.  
  
Concentrating too hard on scraping the bowl clean, he did. Finally.  
  
"You been gettin' the gold alright?"  
  
"Every Christmas," I concurred. "Though the old woman bringing it could do with some lessons in personal hygiene."  
  
A fleeting smile. "Aye, old Gerdie's well known for her stench. But she's a good soul. I can trust her not to steal too much of it from you."  
  
That surprised me. "You know she takes some of it?"  
  
"That's why I put extra in the bag. She'll take no payment for her good deeds, but she's more than willin' to snatch it on her own."  
  
"Oh," I said, because there seemed nothing else I could.  
  
"Gerdie tells me it was a girl," Jack commented more softly. Careful nonchalance. He did not look up at me.  
  
"Yes," I quietly replied, watching his profile. "And you must have learnt her birthdate too, for here you are."  
  
"Aye." Amazing how fascinating icing could be when the alternative involved making eye contact. "Didn't hear her name though." He looked up at last. "I assume you gave her one?"  
  
"Society does demand such things."  
  
"So what is it?"  
  
I smiled. "Mercy."  
  
Jack frowned. "Mercy?"  
  
"That's right." I sighed deeply. "I ask for God's mercy every night in my prayers, for I have done much that begs forgiveness. It seemed only right I name my daughter Mercy too."  
  
"~Mercy~," he repeated distastefully, scrunching his face in disgust. "That's a bloody awful name for a pirate's get to carry. Surely you could have come up with somethin' better, Elizabeth?"  
  
His rancor did not disturb me. Tranquilly, I replied, "Mercy Marie Turner." Then clarified, "Marie was Will's mother's name."  
  
"I remember. But ... namin' the little chit ~Mercy~? Surely that's a sin wantin' forgiveness all on its own!"  
  
"Eat your icing, Jack."  
  
"Well, it is," he pouted.  
  
We sat in companionable silence for a while, with Jack meticulously scraping the bowl clean and with me watching him do it. There was small talk too, chitchat, all of it inconsequential. Then out of nowhere, he asked, "Did you ever tell him?"  
  
I glanced away. Newfound maturity or not, there were some things that were still too hard. "No."  
  
"Didn't think so." He pushed the bowl away, satisfied that he gotten all he could of the sticky, sugary elixir. He gazed at me almost sympathetically. "There might come a time," he murmured, "when you have no choice."  
  
"I will deal with the issue then, Jack." I reached out, clasped his hand, wanting him to understand. I stared into his eyes, willing him to see the depths of my sincerity. "Will loves her so much. I would not spoil that for him without good reason."  
  
"It'll be worse if he figures it out on his own, luv," Jack cautioned, reiterating warnings of two years before. "And he's bound to, sooner or later. You know that."  
  
"I know," I whispered. Rallying, I met his gaze and stated firmly, "But its my decision to make, Jack. I will bear the consequences of my actions."  
  
His smile was kindly, a strange expression on a pirate's face. He quipped, "Just like a Turner to say somethin' like that. You're all bloody daft."  
  
"Daft like Jack." I repeated the old phrase, not caring that my eyes misted with tears. Maybe I did love this man. Just a little.  
  
Joyous screams suddenly erupted, echoing briefly off the hallway walls, and Mercy burst into the kitchen, little arms upraised, wobbling with a toddler's precarious balance, and squealed, "Boo!" She dissolved into baby giggles, pleased by a performance no doubt inspired by her father's prodding.  
  
Always amazed by the miracle of her, I knew exactly what wonders Jack Sparrow saw: a beautiful child, tiny and petite, as fine-boned as a baby bird, with deep chocolate eyes and jet black hair wanting very badly to twist into snarls. Her skin was a perfect ivory, though I suspected it would darken to ruddy gold in the summer sun. She was wearing her new birthday dress, pink with white lace, a delicate and ladylike gown; although admittedly there was nothing ladylike about my two year old tomboy, who preferred wrestling and punching to playing with her dollies.  
  
"Come here, sweetheart." I held my arms out to her and she ran to me, still giggling, her small bare feet ~pat-pat-patting~ across the kitchen floor. She threw herself into my hands and I lifted her onto my lap. Even at two, she weighed almost nothing.  
  
Giggles abruptly ceased. First and second fingers found safe harbor in her mouth as she surveyed the stranger before her with big, suspicious eyes.  
  
Jack studied her with no less intensity.  
  
"Jack," I grinned indulgently, "this is Mercy. Mercy, this is your ... Uncle Jack."  
  
She leaned her head against my chest, still sucking her fingers, assessing the man she would never know as a father.  
  
"She's a pretty little thing," Jack commented quietly. His eyes were full of emotions I no longer had to guess at ... love, pride, joy ... ~sadness~ ... though I did wonder what he might do about them. Somehow though, I sensed he would never steal her from me. When he raised his eyes to mine and grinned crookedly, I knew everything was going to be alright. "Takes after her father, no doubt?"  
  
"Very much," I whispered truthfully. A secret shared.  
  
"Of course she does." Will appeared in the doorway, beaming happily. "Jack, why didn't you have Elizabeth come fetch me?"  
  
"William!" Jack grinned broadly, genuinely pleased to see my husband. "I thought to help your bonny wife with the cake first. Hard work, finishin' a cake up like that."  
  
"Jack helped by licking the icing bowl clean," I added with a wry smile.  
  
"Well, someone had to do it, I'm sure," Will laughed. His eyes fell on Mercy in my lap and lit even brighter. "So you've met our daughter?"  
  
His question gave Jack permission to gaze at the only thing he ~wanted~ to gaze at. He smiled affectionately. "Aye, I've met her."  
  
"Well, what do you think?" Will prompted.  
  
"She's pretty enough. For a baby." Was I the only one who saw the yearning in Jack's eyes?  
  
"'Pretty enough,'" Will mimicked sarcastically, coming to stand beside me. "She's beautiful, Jack! Just wait til she grows up. I daresay she'll look just like her mother."  
  
"One can only hope," Jack muttered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said when do we get to eat the cake? Or do you plan on lettin' your guest starve to death?"  
  
Mercy returned to an upright posture, still staring. Wet fingers were slipped from her mouth. She used them to point at Jack Sparrow. Or more precisely, at all the baubles in his hair.  
  
"Canny?" she queried in her whispery, baby soft voice.  
  
"No darling, that's not candy," I told her. "Those are Jack's ... decorations," I temporized, lacking a better description.  
  
Mercy looked up at me, not willing to tackle such a big word. "Mama canny," she insisted. Again she pointed out the coins and beads in question. Then she squiggled and wormed away from me, stretching her arms out for the pirate.  
  
I glanced a question at Jack, but he was already reaching to take her.  
  
"Now there's a bonny lass," he grinned indulgently, setting her on his knee with the ease of long experience. "Barely two, and she's already got an eye for treasure."  
  
"More like an eye for sweets," Will corrected cheerfully.  
  
"Not all treasure is silver and gold, William. Eye of the beholder, eh? And this little poppet knows what she wants." Jack frowned at me even as Mercy found a particularly colorful bead and tugged on it. "Do you have any candy for her, Elizabeth?"  
  
"She doesn't need candy, Jack. She has a whole cake right here."  
  
"~I'll~ eat the cake. The little one wants candy."  
  
I sighed, knowing it was lost battle.  
  


* * *

  
Later that night, after the cake, after the pirate had plied my daughter with far too many of her favorite candies, Will and I sat in the parlor enjoying one another's company, relishing the cool outside breeze billowing draperies. Mercy rode Jack Sparrow's hip as he prowled the room. Thick as thieves now, they snooped through our belongings together.  
  
"This here," Jack's furtive voice carried to us, "isn't worth spit, luv. See those jewels?" Mercy's tiny finger touched the music box, tentatively. "That there's glass. Not rubies. Not emeralds. Nuthin but bloody glass. Worthless as a termite on a ship."  
  
"I don't think I've heard that one before," Will commented, watching them.  
  
"Nor have I," I agreed.  
  
"Timite ship," Mercy repeated very seriously.  
  
"That's right, luv. And one of these days I'll be takin' you on the grandest ship ever to sail the seas. The ~Black Pearl~."  
  
"Back Poo?"  
  
I saw Jack grimace. "Not quite. But we'll work on that later, eh? It's a name you've got to learn if you want to grow up to be a proper pirate." Of course I knew it was a jest, no doubt directed at my over-protective husband. Jack had already told me, two years before, that he wanted something better than piracy for his children. I knew that desire included Mercy.  
  
"A pirate?" Will asked. "I hardly think you'll make a pirate of her, Jack."  
  
"Really?" Jack approached with Mercy clinging to him like a little monkey. A very happy little monkey, full of smiles and giggles and sticky candy kisses for her new companion. She seemed to consider him a birthday gift more wondrous than the myriad of toys given her. Her very own pet pirate. "Why d'you say that, mate?"  
  
"Well ... for one thing, she's a girl."  
  
"So's AnaMaria. It never stopped her."  
  
"That's beside the point," Will gently chided.  
  
Jack leaned back to better peer into our daughter's face, giving her grave consideration as if looking on the inside as well as the out. Mercy laughed and smacked him in the nose. "Ouch!" He made a comical face and rubbed at his offended proboscis, causing Mercy to scream with glee. Undaunted, Jack continued, "We'll prove it then, won't we, Marie darlin?"  
  
Mercy wriggled in his arms, a joyful little dance.  
  
Jack waited until she had settled, then turned her attention to Will and myself. Pointing to us, he said, "Listen up now, poppet. Your parents have just told you 'no.' What say you to that?"  
  
Mercy dutifully stuck her tongue out at us.  
  
"Oh, my," I whispered, stifling laughter that would only encourage her. Will was not so strong.  
  
But Jack Sparrow was already ~tsking~ and shaking his head. "You forgot the rest of it, luv. Remember?" He did something with his expession that Will and I couldn't see. "So let's try it again, eh? Your parents tell you 'no.' What do ~you~ say?"  
  
That pink little tongue once again extended in all its rude glory, but this time it was accompanied by a terrible scrunching of facial features. An awful, twisted, horrible scowl mimicking, I'm sure, that of the angriest sea monsters.  
  
"That's it, luv," Jack complimented her, smiling proudly while Mercy giggled and threw her pudgy little arms around his neck in a fierce hug.  
  
"When did you teach her that?" I asked, wide-eyed and trying hard to look disapproving. And failing, I fear.  
  
Will grinned, "What does teaching her bad manners have to do with being a pirate, Jack?"  
  
"Disrespect for authority, mate. It always starts there. Come on, Marie luv, let's see what's in here." Together they opened the armoire and peered inside. Mercy mimicked Jack's every move, repeated ... or tried to ... everything he said.  
  
"Like peas in a pod, aren't they?" Will commented affectionately, watching two faces scrunched in identical appraisal of the armoire's dark interior.  
  
It was a perfect opening. I could have told him then, I suppose. Perhaps I should have, but I didn't. I couldn't. Not yet. The time will come, I know that beyond any doubt. But it would not happen this night. Not at this particular moment.  
  
I don't know when I will tell Will the truth. I only know that I shall. I fear I will have no choice.  
  
Just not tonight.  
  
~ Fin ~ 


End file.
